The Legend of Spyro: Dark Moon Rising
by Maria Seinheart
Summary: Malefor defeated? No, he's planning for a renewed assault on Dragon Realms but he has other plans for himself as well. It's up to Spyro, Cynder, and their new allies to stop the new Dark Army as well as Malefor before he achieves ascension before the Night of the Dark Moon.


**The Legend of Spyro: Dark Moon Rising**

Prologue: Beyond Dragon Realms

"So…it's over then?" Spyro asked Cynder.

"Yes, Spyro," said Cynder. "It's over. Malefor's gone and we're still alive. That's all that matters now."

Spyro smiled and Cynder. "You're right, Malefor's gone…but…my heart's not at ease yet. The sense of dread hasn't left me yet," said the purple dragon. His smile vanished quickly at the thought of it.

* * *

For the first time after many years of hardship and warfare, the Dragon Realms sought to close the chapter on one of its darkest history, when the world was almost destroyed. Though Malefor may be defeated, his dark will lingered on like a shadow from the past, an irremovable dark stain which, if left unchecked, could seep into the hearts and minds of Realm's inhabitants. Despite a glorious end to the great evil, there were neither celebrations nor a single fanfare to mark the triumph of Spyro and Cynder.

The guardians were wary of renewed attacks against the Realms but so far, there were no major threats save for a few lost grublins and roaming apes that survived Malefor's curse. Assurance from the new Dragon Council hadn't put their hearts and minds at ease for the deception of peace was the reason why the dragon race almost went extinct a long time ago. They let their guard down for a few moments and the apes rolled over them like a rushing tide.

Since the death of Ignitus, a new dragon was elected to take over the position of Ignitus as the new fire guardian. Infernus was his name and he was of royal blood. He came from the Northern Heartlands where a band of dragon survivors made camp during Malefor's reign. He was no arrogant dragon nor was he a seeker of power. Like Ignitus, Infernus was a humble and strong-willed dragon. Some even called him 'Ignitus Reborn' because of his looks that seemed strikingly similar to Ignitus save for two missing claws on his right paw and a jagged tail tip that looked like fishbone as well as a darker shade of red for his scales.

Infernus was about as old as Terrador but the role of leadership was to be Terrador's because he was the second-in-command when Ignitus was alive. After spending a few years relocating refugees to suitable places to start anew, Terrador delegated tasks to his fellow comrades. To Cyril, he had him scout the Realms for incursions from the remnants of the Dark Army. To Volteer, he had him oversee the construction of Elandril, the new dragon capital. To Infernus, he had him look after the refugees to make sure they were alright.

As for himself, Terrador decided to undertake the task of searching for Spyro and Cynder alone.

* * *

Grublins. They were vile creatures.

They were easy to kill yet each time one was killed, ten more took the dead Grublin's placed. Grublins were spawned from the ingredients of nature, given life by the powers of dark magic. Their larger and more intelligent cousins, the Orcs, were stronger and were leaders of battle groups in war. This time though, there was no war for it was lost. Still, their existence meant something. Rather than disintegrate back to an inanimate pile of earth, they breathed, they fought, they moved.

There was a reason for that and that was what Orc leader Jaruk'bal wanted to know. He sensed a dark guidance and although he cannot explain it, the feeling felt…familiar. Three years since the fall of the Dark Master, Jaruk'bal and his clan brother, Vadu'sek, led a remnant group of Grublins and a troll to the ruins of Old Elandril. Located at the far reaches of the Northern Heartlands, the place was once an ancient dragon city built deep in the mountains of Elandria. Why the dragons abandoned the place remained a mystery but Jaruk'bal had no interest in dragon history.

"_Washum, anach jural diadach sek?_" Vadu'sek asked his older brother.

(Translation: Brother, are we there yet?)

"_Ilaim, washum. Jural mak ka tela shim_," Jaruk'bal answered.

(Translation: Patience, brother. We will be there soon.)

"We've been walking for three days and we're already past the Walls of Hereklion. What guides you, brother, the Dark Master's will or your terrible sense of direction?" Vadu'sek grumbled angrily.

"I ask for patience; not your incessant whining. Be quiet lest I lop your head off with my axe," Jaruk'bal said as he pointed the spear tip of his axe at Vadu'sek.

Vadu'sek kept quiet but he growled at his brother instead. Since he lost his mace, Jaruk'bal had fashioned himself a battleaxe made of orichalkon, a precious silvery-grey metal that was five times stronger than steel and two times lighter. He stole it from a wandering merchant and tested it on the poor cheetah. Needless to say, the results were messy as he hewed the merchant cleanly in two like a sharp axe through firewood.

The Orcs had a culture of weapons. Those who had the bigger weapon had more authority. Even though Jaruk'bal and Vadu'sek were of the same age and were roughly equal in skill, Jaruk'bal's weapon was more powerful and that meant Vadu'sek had to listen to him. He doubted his clan brother would've had second thoughts about cutting down his own kin if they so much as spit in his direction. Vadu'sek appreciated life and he intended to keep it that way.

As night fell, the party took shelter in a cave. They didn't need any sort of food or water for they were animated creatures made of earth and stone. Being close to nature and absorbing nature's bounty was their way of feeding and rejuvenating their bodies. The troll, whom they named, Gragak, was a hungry fellow. By midnight, Gragak had torn down 50 trees to whet his appetite. Such was the upkeep required for trolls in the Dark Army but the Dark Master had no problem with that.

The Grublins on the other hand needed little maintenance for sticks and stones and a few small mounds of dirt was enough to rejuvenate them. They couldn't speak Common Tongue and their intelligence was no more than a spastic toddler dragon's. They used to have a little more common sense and intelligence before but after the Dark Master's defeat, it seemed to have robbed them of their brains too. Now, they're but a garbling bunch of fodder that even the two Orcs could not understand. Still, they were aggressive and they understood basic orders such as 'sit' or 'attack'.

"Have you ever wondered why we're still as we were three years ago?" Vadu'sek asked while his brother sharpened his axe with a whetstone, "while the rest of our cousins were reduced to mindless rabid dogs?"

"Because we were born to lead, _washum_. The Dark Master was gracious to grant us the gift of Common Tongue and made us leaders of our kind. If it weren't for that, this troupe," Jaruk'bal stopped sharpening his axe and looked at his brother, "would've fallen apart a long time ago."

Jaruk'bal dropped the whetstone and stood up. He swung the axe a few times and looked around for something to chop. He espied an oak sapling growing beside a mulberry tree. He approached the sapling and raised his axe. With a mighty swing, his axe fell upon the sapling, cut if in half, and struck the mulberry tree as well. The mulberry tree had withstood the strike but the axe had cut halfway through the trunk. Satisfied with the sharpness, Jaruk'bal removed his axe from the tree.

"We must find more orichalkon. They'll make fine weapons," Jaruk'bal said to Vadu'sek.

"It's a rare metal. We can't find it anywhere for if we are to find it, they're deep underground, perhaps quite close to the center of the world," Vadu'sek said.

At that moment, Jaruk'bal had a thought. The only place that went really deep down into the planet was Elandril. The ancient dragons used to mine deep underground for all things precious for their treasure hoard. No other place in the northern regions of the Realms went as far down as Elandril. The wandering merchant that Jaruk'bal killed earlier looked like he just returned from a scavenging expedition. Perhaps he looted Elandril and found the orichalkon axe. Why only one axe and not more equipments?

"Pack up," Jaruk'bal said. "We're making speed northwards."

"We barely got our rest, brother," Vadu'sek complained. "It's night time and the woods are dangerous."

Jaruk'bal grabbed his brother's neck and pulled him up to his feet. "Why do you fear the forest while we're made from the powers of fear and chaos? We fear nothing but they should fear us."

Vadu'sek opened his mouth but Jaruk'bal pointed at the tree he just cut.

"_Shi vier agak su qwoa suo mek hul egrak_," Jaruk'bal growled.

(Translation: One more word from you and you'll join that tree.)

"_Arek ja…alahim_," Vadu'sek said softly, his head lowered to avoid the gaze of his brother.

(Translation: I'm…sorry)

"_Vren ke suo ehk_," said Jaruk'bal and he released his brother's neck.

(Translation: Pack up and go.)

For the rest of the night, the troupe trekked through the darkened forest. Their feet were fleet and they made no attempt to be quiet. Wild animals that challenged them were quickly cut down by the troupe. For hours they went on without stopping to catch a breath. They were animated creatures after all and they had unlimited stamina as long as they stayed outdoors. Finally, by the dawn of the first light, they reached the gates of Elandril.

The great gates were located on the side of the mountain, reachable only by a stone ramp. On both sides of the gates were two stone statues of guard dragons. Each of them stood tall, their chests puffed with honor and pride while their gazes were eternally locked towards the direction of the forest. At that height, even the Walls of Hereklion were visible. Vadu'sek looked back and was impressed by the scenery.

"What did I tell you, brother? The Dark Master still guides us," Jaruk'bal said.

He noticed the gates were ajar. The opening was small enough for a cheetah to slip through but not enough for an Orc to pass. Jaruk'bal was puzzled. He had expected the gates to be wide open if the wandering merchant wanted to haul all his loot onto his donkey. Jaruk'bal tried to push the gates but it didn't budge an inch. They were firmly stuck, the hinges rusted beyond repair. Surely the cheetah didn't come all the way here just to loot an orichalkon axe.

"Gragak, get it open," Jaruk'bal ordered.

Gragak roared and started bashing the gates with his fists. Even when the gates were five times larger than him, Gragak's great strength combined with the rusty hinges made it possible for him to knock the gates back. Each slam on the gates created deafening echoes throughout the halls inside of the ruins and stirred up dust as the gates were slowly pushed backwards. Bits of steel flaked off the gates at the same time and fell to the ground like a rain of steel. After a few good bashes, Gragak finally opened the gates wide enough for everyone, including himself, to pass through.

"So this is the legendary city of Elandril. Why has the Dark Master led us to a sanctuary for dragons?" Vadu'sek asked.

"For a reason," Jaruk'bal said. "I'm no oracle so I don't know what he wants."

The arrival hall was mostly empty and dusty. There were several skeletal remains of dragons strewn all over the place. Some had armor on them, armors that were intricately designed to reflect Second Age dragon culture and art. Light from the outside shone through broad windows and it illuminated the arrival hall like a thousand torches. Jaruk'bal wondered if the glass panes were designed in a way to magnify light.

There were barrels of rusted old weapons, mostly from the Second Age but far too small for dragons to use. They were probably made for the smaller denizens of the Realms. None of them were made of orichalkon though there were a few weapons made of diamond and obsidian. It was odd that they weren't looted by scavengers and adventurers because such an old and precious weapon could fetch a fairly large fortune. Still, the Grublins could use some weapon upgrades and Jaruk'bal instructed them to grab some new weapons. They could carry any light weapon up to a long sword. Any weapon bigger than that would be hard for them to swing.

The end of the arrival hall was a bridge that spanned across a deep canyon. The bridge connected the arrival hall to a gigantic tower of stone and steel which went far down into the darkened abyss. The once great chandeliers of sunstone and glowsteel that hung from the rocky ceilings were gone. With no light to illuminate the path beyond, the Orcs fashioned makeshift torches made from branches wrapped with oil-soaked linen cloth they found in an abandoned camp site not far from the entrance of Elandril.

The trip down to the center of the world was a perilous one for the tower was unstable and many of the stairs in the tower were gone. They had to leap for their tunneling abilities could not work on steel. Gragak was becoming a liability for his weight and the shakings he caused when landing shook the tower. Even the Grublins feared for their own safety. Jaruk'bal seemed unfazed but his stony heart raced. His brother wasn't too subtle an Orc though. He cringed and cursed whenever the tower groaned.

"Who would've thought the dragons used to be master architects. Such a shame to see such good things go to waste like that," Vadu'sek muttered.

"Hardly a place for us to call home," Jaruk'bal said in a dismissive manner.

By some unprecedented amount of luck, they reached to the very bottom of the tower after several hours. Their torches had died a long time ago and they were too deep down for sunlight to reach. Their only source of light came from glowing orichalkon veins that ran throughout the deepest parts of the abyss like fissures that emitted rays of silver light. Orcs and Grublins had good dark vision but the troll had none at all. Gragak relied on the lights from the orichalkon veins to find his way and more than once, he bumped into the brothers and nearly stomped on several of the Grublins.

"I'm very surprised to see much of the ruins are still intact even after the world broke apart. Even the front entrance is more intact than the walls of Warfang," said Jaruk'bal.

At the bottom of the abyss was not a hall of gold, steel, and diamonds. Rather, it was a medium-sized chamber, made entirely out of orichalkon primus, a high grade orichalkon that was even stronger but no less lighter. It could bend to shapes that would normally break steel and it was red with a tinge of magenta in it. No one has seen orichalkon primus before and it was possible that they were the first after so many centuries to set eyes on one of the most precious minerals in the Realms besides the Spirit Gems.

The chamber was empty save for a claw-shaped contraption at the end of the circular chamber. It looked ominous and the contraption pulsated with power.

"It's here…the will of the Dark Master has led me here," Jaruk'bal said triumphantly.

"But what is it? An altar?" Vadu'sek wondered.

"Not an altar," a voice from the contraption said, "but it's a gate. A portal if you will."

The voice was familiar and everyone knew who it belonged to. They quickly bowed down in respect and Jaruk'bal laid down his weapon. The portal glowed dark purple and a circular vortex swirled above the 'palm' of the portal gate. The vortex morphed into two yellowish serpentine eyes that burned with the fires of malice and hatred. It was Malefor's, the dark dragon that everyone thought defeated.

"My will guided you here and so it shall guide you further. While my spies sow discord across the Realms, I have other plans for my eventual ascension to godhood. You all shall be my instruments," said Malefor.

"Your will be done, master. You know I'm here and I've been most faithful to your cause," Jaruk'bal said as he bowed even lower.

"That you are and even though you're but a construct built from the scraps of the earth, by my will you shall become a powerful leader, my will made manifest. Bear that with pride and honor for it is not something I give openly to my followers. The Great Cleansing may be a failure but it won't stop my ascension. When I am a god, Spyro will never match my powers no matter how hard he tries. For the time being, I'm gathering my strength for my eventual return. My army in this realm is all but decimated but there're others who will serve as allies and as tools for my cause. Seek them out for their technology shall greatly bolster our new army."

"Who are these allies you speak of, master?" Vadu'sek asked.

"They are the humans. I will open a portal to a world called Torian where humans play master to all creatures. Go seek a human named Lursk Antillus for he has prayed for a god to give him powers to conquer his enemies. Let us give him that power."

Malefor's eyes dissolved and a dark purple lightning shot forth from it and struck the orichalkon axe. It absorbed the lightning and became dark purple in color. Its look became gnarled and twisted like a battleaxe from the depths of hell. Malefor's insignia, the Claw of Ruin, appeared on it as a symbol of his favor towards Jaruk'bal. When Jaruk'bal picked up the axe, he felt empowered by it. It felt like a surge of power coursing through him and he felt like he could challenge the world.

"Your will be done," Jaruk'bal said in a dark and evil tone.

He turned to his comrades and pointed his axe at the portal. He held it in one hand and swung it as if he was swinging a light mace.

"Let's go. The sooner we do this, the more troops we can muster to crush the dragons."

* * *

_A/N: Well, I've had a long break from writing Spyro fics but now that I've got an idea going (and thanks to some nice readers who PMed me to continue writing Spyro fics), I've decided to write away. Let's make this fun eh. Send me your ideas for heroes (or villains if you so choose) and I'll pick those I like and include them in the fic. Don't post ideas in the reviews. PM me instead._


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